


Perish Twice

by JustRamblinOn



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, With a Hint of Plot, but with some feelings, i don't know honestly, idk this is not my normal guys, literally on the throne, mostly a hate fuck, no really this is pure smut, sex in the throne room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22486756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustRamblinOn/pseuds/JustRamblinOn
Summary: It's a fine line between love and hate; a razor's edge you've been treading with Thranduil for centuries. One more mistake won't be anything, really- a mere drop in the bucket to the King of the Woodland Realm. It's a good thing you hate the cold, disdainful elf-king as much as you crave the wildfire that runs in his veins.
Relationships: Thranduil (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Thranduil (Tolkien)/Reader
Comments: 18
Kudos: 237





	Perish Twice

**Author's Note:**

> Blame RhiKitti for this one. I do. 
> 
> If anyone cares, this is inspired by "Centuries" and "Immortals" by Fall Out Boy, "Prisoner" "Make Me Wanna Die" and "Cold Blooded" by the Pretty Reckless, and "Crawl" by Kings of Leon. 
> 
> Title is a reference to Robert Frost's "Fire and Ice", and I highly recommend a read.

“I have lived thousands of years, faced dragon fire and death and ruin, and I have never met someone as- as infuriating as you,” Thranduil hissed, face inches from mine. 

I tried not to look at his lips, instead letting my own curl into a sneer. “I assure you, the feeling is entirely mutual.” 

He snarled, one hand grasping my throat with fingers long and cool like marble. I lifted my chin and matched his otherworldly stare, daring him to do it.

Tighten your grip, King of Mirkwood, or else let me go, I thought at him. 

His eyes dropped to my mouth as his lips parted, and heat coiled low in my stomach and started to spread. His hand gentled, fingertips sliding down my neck as he brought his face closer. 

I shivered, breath hitching. 

His eyes snapped back to mine and narrowed. "I detest you." 

"You're the one touching me," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady as his fingers trailed over my collarbone. 

His hand stilled, and for a minute I thought he would snatch it away and back up. He didn't move, however, instead sliding his hand around to the back of my head, locking it into a handful of my hair, and dragging down until I hit my knees. He let go of my hair and caressed my cheek, taking me by the jaw and tilting my head up while he stared down at me. 

“Is that any way to talk to a king?” 

His thumb stroked over my lower lip, dipping inside my mouth when it opened at his touch. He smiled when my tongue brushed his thumb, rapidly changing to a scowl and a hiss as I bit down, and not gently. He jerked his hand back and glared, and I licked my lips and let him see the amusement in my eyes. 

It was inevitable now. It had been from the moment I set foot in his throne room, filled with moonlight and shadow in the middle of the night, while the rest of his kingdom lay sleeping. It had been inevitable since I crossed the boarder into Mirkwood, his presence and will stalking me through the trees. 

In this kingdom, I was always at his mercy. And despite the hatred that filled our every interaction, we kept coming back, again and again, over the endless expanse of years. Just for one more night. One more mistake, I swore as he straightened and looked down his nose at me. 

“I have you on your knees.” 

I nodded, looking down and trailing the fingertips of one hand up the side of his leg as I shifted closer. He turned toward me, drawn as I was, just as tangled in this spider’s web of anger and need. “You’re the one who’s going to be begging, though,” I whispered, lips brushing his thigh. 

His hand came back into my hair as I undid the laces of his fitted pants, his breath catching harshly when my fingers found him hard and eager. He groaned as I stroked him with one hand, teasingly light touch circling his head and making the grip on my hair turn harsh and hard. I flicked my tongue over the sensitive spot on the underside, and he muttered a fairly foul suggestion in a thousand year old variety of elvish that had me glancing up in surprise. He glared back at me, lip curling in a snarl. 

He was fire and ice, burning and freezing in the same moment, and nothing else I’d ever experienced compared. How could an expression so detached cover such a storm within? 

I enjoyed cracking the ice too much, both like this as I trailed my lips over him, mouth open and wet until his head fell back and he sighed, and by pissing him off every second I was in his presence. 

And oh, in battle- there was the place to see him truly lose the carven-stone coldness. 

But this was my favorite way to crack the façade, and I could tell I'd started to succeed already. His breath caught when I said he was going to beg, and I smiled.

“Aren’t you, your majesty?” I asked softly, eyes on his.

"If you are not going to use that mouth on me, I implore you to at least keep it closed," he snapped. 

I wrapped my hand around his base and did as he asked, slipping him into my mouth slowly and agonizingly for both of us. These encounters were usually hard and fast and furious, and I had no doubt it would be the same by the end tonight. In fact, I looked forward to it. But for now, I was in charge, for all I was the one on my knees, and I wanted him like this-

Breath ragged, body tense and still, his hand a fist in my hair, with his head tipped back and mouth open as he gasped. 

The thorny crown was still on his head, a thing of exquisite beauty and impossible danger, much like the king who hated what he craved from me. I made him weak; made the cracks appear in the control he maintained over every thing around him, and I relished in it. 

When my lips met the sensitive skin at his base, he moaned, long and throaty, and I held myself still as his hips moved in tiny thrusts he couldn't contain. The hand in my hair turned gentle, despite the trembling eagerness filling his body. For as much as we loved to hate each other, he knew just how far down my throat he reached at the moment and I knew he was holding himself in check so as not to accidentally hurt me.

If we hurt each other, it was intentional- and always enjoyable. 

I kept still as long as I could stand, then pulled back until only the tip of him remained in my mouth. 

His hand shook as he clenched it in my hair and yanked, until I looked up even as I swirled my tongue around him. He tasted of salt and need and Thranduil, the flavor as familiar to me as Mirkwood's winding paths. "Again," he snarled. 

I shook my head, flat denial more for the sake of annoying him than anything else. "No. You like it too much." 

"You are hateful," he hissed, icy eyes narrowed. 

"And you are arrogant and condescending," I retorted pleasantly. "Now be silent. I'm busy." 

He inhaled sharply, ready to retaliate, but I'd already closed my mouth over him again, hollowing my cheeks as I did. He let out a low groan, both hands in my hair now as my hands traveled up his thighs to grip the open waistband of his pants. He shuddered when I slid my tongue along him, scraping my teeth lightly as I went. 

Thranduil never minded a little pain. Neither did I. 

He was coming undone as I continued, thrusting into my mouth as I worked him over. I turned my eyes up, wanting to watch his face as he lost that alien coldness and turned into the fire I was drawn to like a moth to a torch. His head rolled forward, hair falling in a sleek river of molten silver in the moonlight. His eyes closed and his lips parted, jaw somehow still tight with tension, like he was holding back. 

I scraped my nails down the bare skin of his hips as I took him down my throat again, and he let out one harsh cry as he came, heat flowing down the back of my throat. The glamour he usually held in place to keep his face smooth and perfect faded as he lost control, and I watched the scars from dragon's fire appear in a slow swirl that told me more than the jerks of his hips or the clench of his hands in my hair that I'd brought him to the edge and taken him plunging over. 

His head flung back again as I swallowed down everything he gave me, a rattling breath escaping and his hands falling from my hair to my shoulders. I sat back, hands on his thighs, and waited for him to inevitably look down and mutter some insult. His fingers moved against my neck, tiny strokes that were almost a caress as he got himself under control. 

By the time he looked down, he'd covered his scars again. But the cool disdain was gone, and smoldering embers waited in his eyes. I bit at my lower lip, anticipation sparking through me, because now- now it would get fun. 

"Get up," he ordered, and I did, sliding my body against his. 

He took my chin in his hand, and this time when he leaned in, it was to ravage my mouth with his. I closed my eyes and kissed him back, tongues and lips and teeth hungry and brutal as we battled for the upper hand. 

It was always like this. He commanded; I fought. He was imperious, demanding, arrogant in his issuing of orders and in his actions. I was impertinent and disobedient, and yet- we always found ourselves here. 

His free hand clenched on my arm and yanked me closer as his teeth sank into my lip. I grabbed a handful of his robe, twisting it into a knot in my fist, the other coming up to dig my nails into the sensitive skin of his wrist. 

He snarled and let go, shoving me away to pace toward the edge of the platform upon which he'd placed his throne. The air hung heavy, rough, crackling heat sparking between the two of us until I couldn't believe the rest of his kingdom wasn't burning as well. He stood with his back to me, a white tiger carved from ice that I dared not take my eyes from, lest he spring to life and eat me whole. 

I wanted him to.

He turned slowly and my heart sped up, pounding along faster than the lord of horses over an open plain. This was what he did to me; this was what brought us back to each other, again and again- this driving, desperate heat that melted his ice and my will. He stalked me, and even though he should not have been- with his trousers open and his robe disheveled in the very public exposure of his throne room- he dripped danger and hauteur with every motion. 

I turned to keep him in my sights, and he tilted his head as he studied me. I swallowed hard, his eyes snapping down to the movement in my throat. 

"I should make you pay for that," he whispered. 

"For what? You wanted it," I countered, chin rising in stubborn refusal to surrender. Not without a fight. "And you liked it." 

He sniffed. "You enjoyed it as much as I did, didn't you?" 

He slid behind me, combing his fingers through my hair, and my eyes fluttered closed against my will. His voice was a breath in my ear before his lips brushed the thundering pulse in my throat. "You enjoy every moment of having me inside you." 

I shuddered, biting my tongue to keep from whimpering as he nipped lightly at my neck. He traced his fingers over the tops of my breasts, above my tunic, and I stopped breathing. His tongue swept my earlobe as he chuckled, air returning to my lungs in a gasp.

"I enjoy," I managed while he bit his way down and my head fell back to his shoulder, eyes opening to stare up at the stars wheeling between the branches of the great trees, "I enjoy making you need me." 

"I don't need you," he snapped, his hands stilling and his head whipping up to glare at me. "I need nothing from you." 

"Yes, you do." I was breathing hard as he jerked me around to stand nose to nose with him again. "And you hate it." 

"I hate you." 

"I know," I agreed. "Kiss me. Now." 

He snarled, but his mouth crushed mine and I wound my hands in his hair. He growled against my lips and I heard the whine escape, low in my throat. His hands locked on my hips, lifting me easily before shoving me backward to fall onto his throne, where I stared up at him, wide eyed and breathless. 

He dropped to his knees, hands on either side of my head as he got in my face. "I am king." 

"You are king," I agreed, and bit his lip. 

He wrapped a hand around my throat again and I moaned as his tongue thrust into my mouth. When he broke the kiss, his eyes wild, he squeezed lightly. "I need nothing." 

"You need this," I snapped, getting irritated. He could deny it all he wanted, but here we were. On his throne, him on his knees, where anyone could have looked out and seen us. 

He ran his tongue down the curve of my breast and I arched into him. His hand slid from my throat to pull my shoulders forward, and he worked loose the ties on my tunic as he bit and licked and sucked his way back up my throat to snarl in my ear. "I need nothing. But I will take you, right here." 

"I'll let you," I gasped out, and he made a frustrated noise, drawing back to shoot me an angry look. 

"Must you always use that mouth to annoy me?" he asked. 

I smiled as he pulled down my tunic, his eyes dropping to my exposed breasts as I leaned back, legs parting. He moved forward automatically as his hands slid down my shoulders to caress my breasts. I moaned, eyes closed and head back as I pressed into his touch and he rubbed my nipples between his fingers. 

His mouth was sudden wet heat, an explosion of sensation that had me grabbing for his hair and locking my legs around him in unthinking need. He bit down, tongue flicking over my nipple and rolling it in his mouth, and the noise I made would probably have embarrassed me if I wasn't so far gone. He shivered at the sound and sucked hard, bringing a curse from my lips as I grabbed for his shoulders. 

He swirled his tongue over my nipple one last time, then pressed his forehead to mine. "You want me."

"Never said I didn't," I gasped out. "But I still hate you." 

"Good." 

He grabbed my hips, sliding me forward on the throne so he could undo the ties of my soft leather leggings, drawing them down impatiently. He huffed in frustration when he had to stop and remove my boots, chucking them over his shoulder as he glared at me like wearing shoes was a personal offence to him somehow. 

I watched him, hands clenched on the arms of his throne, as he sat back much as I'd done earlier. I could imagine what I looked like, tunic around my waist and legs bare and spread, draped across his throne and waiting for him. He tilted his head, his eyes sweeping me slowly as his fingers trailed up and down my calf. He didn't speak, but licked his lips as he shifted forward to press a kiss to the inside of my thigh, just above my knee. 

I could feel his lips curve into a smile when I shivered. 

He licked along my thigh before straightening. I grabbed his wrist when he reached up toward his head, and he paused, giving me a curious look. 

"Leave the crown," I ordered. His eyes went dark with hunger, the tiger I'd seen earlier no longer carved of ice. 

He left the crown. 

His hair slid like silk over my bare skin, his fingers digging into my legs hard enough to leave bruises. I didn't mind in the least, not when his tongue swept lightly over my clit and I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood to keep from moaning his name. I tangled one hand in his hair, the other reaching over my head to clutch his throne like a lifeline to reality, and my hips arched, chasing the warmth of contact. 

He scraped his nails down my thighs, his mouth closing suddenly and brutally over me as he thrust his tongue deep inside. This time I couldn't stop his name from exploding out, my hand in his hair tightening into a fist as I tried to press him closer. Need built, growing hot and strong as dragon fire as he curled his tongue inside me, the branches of his crown leaving bloody scratches against my thighs. I was shuddering, held on that perilous peak as he explored every inch of me with lips and tongue, and finally, finally, closed his mouth over my clit and flicked the tip of his tongue against it. 

I saw stars over head and stars behind my eyelids as I crashed over the edge, falling hard and fast toward earth as I gasped Thranduil's name over and over. Every time I did, his tongue flicked out again and the wave of endless, glorious, torturous pleasure rose higher. 

He moved like lightening, going from mouth on my core and driving me mad to mouth on mine before I knew he'd moved, his tongue plunging between my lips as he grabbed the hand I had locked onto the branches of his throne. He leaned over me and reached down to stroke a hand along himself, his fingers curling around and between my own. 

I could taste myself on his lips, on his tongue against mine, and I was still a shivering, quaking mess when he pried my hand loose and hauled me up and into his arms. I wrapped my legs around him and my hands into his hair again, liquid silver flowing through my fingers as I broke from his lips to kiss my way over his cheek, where if he'd let the goddamn glamour drop for another millisecond there would scars, and toward his ear. I scraped my teeth over his earlobe and he snarled, collapsing onto the throne with me in his lap. 

I sat, unlocking my legs from around him to settle into place more comfortably, and I could feel the long, hard length of him pressed between us. I rocked my hips and he groaned, digging his fingers into my sides as his head fell back against the branches. 

I rolled my hips again and his eyes closed as his hands slid up my sides to cup my breasts. He swept his thumbs over my nipples, my hands covering his and running down his arms and back. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back with sigh at his touch. 

"Open your eyes," he commanded.

I did, pushing onto my knees as he studied me, head tilted to one side and that coldly perfect hauteur back in place for a moment. 

I hated it. 

I leaned over him, taking his face in my hands and bringing my mouth almost to his. He tipped his face toward mine, striving to close the distance and bring us into a kiss, but I pushed back up, sliding myself down onto him in one swift motion. 

My name exploded from him, ripped from his lips against his will as he snatched at my hips and pulled me down harder. He glared at me and I smiled, running my hands through my own hair and down over my body. I smoothed my palms down the tops of my thighs, then skimmed my hands up his body to tangle in the hair at the base of his neck and pull. 

He trailed one fingertip from the hollow of my throat to my navel before he reached up and removed the crown from his hair. His eyes were fire, the same pale blue of the hottest part of a flame, and his lips parted as he placed his crown in my hair.

I lifted an eyebrow in surprise, but he shook his head. His eyes lingered on my face as he reached for my hips again, lifting me up until nothing but the very tip of him remained inside me. I caught my lip between my teeth and held myself there, drawing out the moment and the trembling anticipation until we were both breathless and aching with it. 

His eyes narrowed and he thrust upward, slamming back into me hard enough I cried out, caught between pleasure and pain as he eased out again. I let out a long, shuddering breath, met his eyes, and rocked onto him myself this time. I set the pace, slow and torturous as before, until the air filled with our gasps and low moans. His fingers clenched and unclenched on my hips, or dropped down to clutch my thighs before returning as he rose to meet me with every stroke. 

My hands gripped his shoulders and I arched back, need rising and making it impossible to stay slow. I picked up the pace and he growled, grabbing my jaw and pulling me down to take my mouth with his as he pushed us even faster. 

I bit his lip and he let go of my jaw to grab my hips, stilling my movements so he could take over, thrusting into me hard and fast. I broke the kiss with a moan, hands on his face and panting. 

"Thranduil," I managed, and he opened his eyes to glare into mine. "Let it go," I ordered, voice catching as his rhythm faltered for a moment. 

His lip curled in a snarl, but I snapped my hips forward against his hold and his jaw went tight. He closed his eyes and growled as the glamour fell away again so his cheek under my hand became scarred and broken. 

"Open your eyes," I whispered, less a command than a request, stroking my fingers along his smooth, unblemished jaw. He did, one eye clouded and white and the other filling with urgent, vicious need. I leaned in and kissed him again, hard and reckless, as I continued my unrelenting pace and he shuddered, his grip bruising as I brought him to the edge. When I pressed my lips to his scarred cheek, his eyes dropped closed again. 

I cried out as I fell over that glorious peak, hips stilling as I came, and he gasped as I clenched around him. 

He thrust into me again and I flung myself back with a half-scream. My hands stayed on his face, sliding down toward his neck and back as his eyes snapped open to fix me with wild, almost crazed need. He, too, fell over the edge and into oblivion, his arm wrapping around me to pull me closer to him. Small, uncontrollable jerks of my hips chased every last drop of pleasure I could get, and his breath was harsh and broken as his head fell back against the throne again, eyes staring open and sightless at the sky overhead. 

When I could think, I sucked in air like I'd been slaughtering orcs at his side, and I dropped my hands from his face to rest against his shoulders. I sat in his lap, naked save for his crown, and picked absently at the shoulder of the tunic he still wore. His hands had gentled, his slim fingers no longer biting into me hard enough to bruise, instead tracing almost imperceptible patterns against my sides. 

"My king," I said, breaking the silence that fell as our breathing came under control. 

He looked at me, and as I watched, he began to swirl the glamour back into place. I set my hand against his cheek, hoping he would stop. Hoping he would accept the scars and remain the wildfire instead of the ice sculpture. 

But he didn't, and his cheek under my hand was cold to the touch. I sighed, seeing the untouchable, carven-stone image of him returning before my eyes. He looked like Thranduil and spoke like him, but he was cold and remote as a winter moon. 

I hated him, I thought as he reached up and removed his crown from my head. Oh, I hated him. 

"I believe this belongs to me," he said snidely. 

I pressed my lips together and considered how to respond. I settled for rising from his lap and reaching for my tunic, pulling it over my head as he set the crown back on his own head and laced his trousers. I pulled on my own leggings, watching him from the corner of my eye when he stood and went to leave without a word. 

"Thranduil." 

He paused, turning slowly, and fixed me with his detached gaze. 

"I followed the king who gained those scars into battle. I would follow him again," I whispered. 

His lip curled, but for a moment I thought I saw wildfire in his eyes. "You detest me." 

"Yes," I agreed. I scooped up my boots and padded on bare feet to stand in front of him. I kissed the corner of his mouth while he stood frozen, letting my fingers linger on his cheek where the scars would have been. "But not always. Goodbye, my king." 

I left him standing, a tiger carved of ice, in the beam of moonlight in front of his throne.


End file.
